Chapter 8

I awoke from a dead sleep and with ten minutes to check out I threw my things in my bag haphazardly. As Bret will attest, I don’t like to be rushed when packing. Every morning I would be up a half hour before Bret breaking my tent down and organizing and yet somehow he would always be waiting for me.

We walked around Paris for the rest of the morning in a haze, drifting here and there and through the Latin Quarters looking for something to eat. I was somewhat tired and hung-over and just wanted to sit down but Bret wouldn’t have it because it was too touristy. In our hung-over state, we were getting on each other’s nerves a bit but when we finally sat down at the Beire Academy , a Belgium Beer restaurant where we had eaten two nights before, we were back on track. We decided it would be in our best interest to have a few Duvel Beers and crash on the train ride home, but has fate would have it, there would be no sleep on the Thalys from Paris to Amsterdam.

At the beginning of the trip on the TGV train from Amsterdam to Avignon, we sat across from an older women and a very attractive French girl aboutour age. She must have been in advertising as she was working on some proofs for a good part of the trip. I tell you this; if she looked at us once it was a lot. Bret and I got a good laugh at this afterwards thinking, how can you sit across from someone on a train for four hours and not even look at the person across from you and at least fake a smile. Are we that despicably detestable?This train ride would be different, however.

Across from us on this train ride sat Eva and her two-and-a-half year old daugter Noa. Eva had a bright, warmsmile that I’m sure could even warm the heart of the apparently heartlessgirl we sat across from on the way to Avignon. She had a great energy about her that was at once welcoming and open.At first we were thinking, this could be a long train ride with a screaming kid across from us, but Noa was amazingly well behaved and had some of the most beautifully striking, innocent, and curiouseyes I’ve seen.With those eyes and her mother’s spicy personality, she will surely be a heart breaker.

From the moment we sat down across from Eva until the train pulled into Paris four hours later we were talking up a storm. She was on her way to meet up with some of her best friends in Paris and told us to come out the next night for ‘ladies night,’ and if that didn’t work, perhaps we could meet up the following day in Westerpark for Bret’s friend Thom’s birthday.

When we arrived in Amsterdam, Bret and I left each other at Central Station and I went back to Susan’s for what I hoped would be a mellow Saturday night, this was not the case however. In the Bourbon Street Bar in Leidseplein, we ran Owen and his Irish cronies and Ron the Northeastern American expat. “I love Amsterdam,” Ron said. “Where else can you take your bike to the store and pick up some Milk, baby’s diapers, and some hash?”Needless to say, we didn’t get home until 6:30am that morning,and consequently,I did not make it out for girl’s night the following evening. I did not even get out of bed until 2:30pm.Bret didmake it out for girls nightand he didn’t get home until 5am. At that point, I don’t think my body was ready to handle two nights of that.

Saturday night I went out with Judith and Susan in the trendy Jordan area of Amsterdamfor our African reunion tourand they caught me up on the rest of their trip afterwe left each other in Zanzibar. My favorite part wasthem telling me the story of a botched Safarithey went onin a two wheel drive van with a driver who had barely ever driven off road.At one point hetried to cross a small river and said, “Hold on!” Well, the car went in and never came out. It was leaning in thigh-high water ata 45 degree angle in the middle of nowhere. He told them to get out and push and they said absolutely not as snakes were in the water and the area was known for some of the most aggressive Lions inCentral Africa (at one point years ago when a railroad was being built, roughly 140 people were eaten by lions).

The driver said his phone didn’t work and after seven hours of baking in the sun with the Judith said, “Give me that damn phone!”She was holding it up in different places all over the car and finallymanaged to get a signal andcall into the station. To make a long story short, they got help and left thedriver there for lion bait. When they got back to Nairobi, they called the tour company to get their money back but they would not give it up. Finally, Judith yelled into the phone, “Your gonna give me my fucking money or I’m going to burn your mother-fucking place down!” They got their money back. Sometimes you need to speak in a language the Africans understand.The two lessons learned here, a)if you are in Africa and go on a Safari, make sure it is a reputable tour company, and b)never cross a Dutch woman if you are a home or business owner.

***

The weather in Amsterdam is incredibly unpredictable. Bret says you can get all four seasons in one day but sometimes it seems like you can get them in an hour. The following day, Susan had some things to do so she escorted me to Leidseplein on bike where she left me on my own to find my way to Westerpark. The moment we left her house the skies opened and we got stuck in a downpour. I was feeling a bit shaky on the bike as you have to cross train lines and watch out for other cars, bikers, and pedestrians, not to mention have a general understanding of the bike system. As soon as Susan left meon my own, however, and I got out of the busy areaof Leidseplein, I was thinking to myself, this is really fun -I’m having a great time.The moment I had completed that thought, my back tire blew so loudly I was sure someone was using the American as target practice. I could do nothing but laugh once I realized blood was notpouring fromany gunshot wounds.I asked several people if there was anywhere to get the tire fixed but it was Sunday and everything was closed so I was forced to walk the bike the rest of the distance to the park.

When I got to the party which was under a tent in the park, I changed out of my wet clothes and had some food and drinks, but in the back of my mind I was still thinking, what the fuck am I going to do and how am I going to get Susan’s bike back to her house? As my buzz got greater, that thought receded further and further into the back of my mind. At one point someone broke out a soccer ball so I decided I needed to teach the Dutch a thing or two, and while playing, Eva showed up as well. It was a great afternoon filled with good people, good food, and drinks, and the first sunshine I had seen in Amsterdam since the the day I arrived.There waseven a little guitar action and the ‘Push It A Little Bit Harder,’ song was created, a song with descending chords about what I’m sure you can imagine. The last ten of us were singing the refrain at the top of our lungs; push it, a little bit harder, a little bit harder, a little bit harder...I can assure you it is a catchy number and I sang it in my mind for the next few days.

At the end of the party, it was decided that I should walk the bike back to Leidsepleinand lock it up over night, and from there I could take the tram back to Susan’s house. Westerpark and Susan’s home are on opposite sides of the city so there was just no way I could walk it all the way home that night, not to mention I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to Susan’s place.

As luck would have it, however, the tragedy of the blown tire turned out to be a blessing in disguise (at least on this day). Being that I was forced to walk the bike all the way back to Leidseplein, it forced me to slow down and really look around at the city - to pay attention to its architecture and to watchits people - and sincethe rain had stopped, a beautiful sunset was unfolding over Amsterdam.

On the ride home, or should I say walk, everyone was busy doing something. In Amsterdam, every one rides their bike; women in very, very short skirts, men in business suits, people ridewith their children in small baskets on the front or back of the bike, and all the while they are holding bags of groceries, an umbrella, talking on the phone or texting and driving across train tracks and over bridges and canals. At one point I walked past a skate park and stopped to watch the kids who had no doubt been riding the half-pipe all day -back and forth and back and forth. It was poetry in motion. They were fearless as their body and mind became one fluid motion.

After a while of hunching over the handle bars to walk the bike, I began trying to walk the bike by just holding on to the seat. It tookquite a while to figure out the right balancingact. If you held on to the seat too tight you forced it to do something it didn’t want to do and if you held it too lightly, vice versa. You needed to hold it just right and gently guide it. Any force in the wrong way would make the wheel turn and buckle. I thought this was a good metaphor for life; you must hold on to the reigns of life while gently guide it, and in that process, it will take you where you need to go. If you force things, they just don’t work. I also realized you can turn just about any repetitive action into a Zen exercise or meditation by really being aware of what you are doing, whether it is walking a bike, walking down the street, or breathing. That night was one of the best walks home I have ever had.

The first day or two in Amsterdam I was overwhelmed at trying to get around and figure out their transportation system. To be quite honest, I think many Dutch people haven’t figured itout either. But I realized that night, the only way to figure out a city is to just do it; walk its streets, ride its transportation systems, follow winding streets that seem to go nowhere on a bike, ask questions, and meet its people. All you need is a penchant for adventure, a willingness to explore, and an insatiable curiosity.

Chapter 9: A Slice of Humble Pie